Christmas Ashes to Ashes and Life on Mars
by Philip Glenister tomboy
Summary: Just some Christmas themed fanfics from the BBC Ashes to Ashes and Life on Mars UK series, all are written from the CID police officers childhoods right up to the present 21st Century era. So here's some very festive ones to brighten up the archive with festive episodes aglow. Enjoy as the Gene Genie will come round your house dressed as Father Christmas!
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter #1: Christmas Day at the Gene Genie's._

**Want to know how the Gene Genie spends Christmas with his family, colleagues and friends? Well here's a very Christmassy BBC Ashes to Ashes fanfic which gets the Christmas feeling up and running for those of you who like BBC's Ashes to Ashes, enjoy!**

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_Christmas Day 2019_

Christmas morning arrived bright and too early, with the sounds of children, nieces, nephews and Denise's grandchildren squealing, bouncing and begging Gene to let the Hunt family children open their presents; since they opened their stockings from Father Christmas in bed but thank goodness they weren't allowed to open their chocolate selection boxes until Christmas dinner is done. The children, nieces, nephews and grandchildren's incessant caterwauling is pushing the Gene Genie past the point of sanity. Chris distracts the kids and gestures towards the huge stack of gifts all badly wrapped and tucked beneath the Christmas tree. "Go ahead, guys, just, take it down a notch, would you?" said DS Chris Skelton whispering to all of the children in their boss Gene's family.

The festive gathering's far from quiet and Gene can hear various children squealing and parents hushing them, someone's snoring and he's pretty sure he can hear Ray Carling whispering sweet nothings to his younger colleague Chris.

Gene reckons he could probably scale a building with all the excess energy bouncing round his body right this second, not bad going for a handsome, but gorgeous bloke of 56 years old.

Gene wanders into the living room, tumbler in hand filled with a ice cream soda snowball, and rolls his eyes when he spots his mum trying and failing to figure out how to fit batteries into Ray and Chris' children's lightsabers from the _Star Wars_ films.

He doesn't want to hear his mum Denise moan like a little bitch with a skinned knee for the entire day because Jason Hunt and David Carling can't actually use their brand new shiny toy lightsabers and are making their Great grandma's life a living nightmare. Gene loudly belly laughs at his mother "Mum, you know I love it when you swear like that, but I'm thinkin' a _Star Wars _toy isn't worth you getting pissed off like this." He can see his mother mumbling something about stupid bloody electronic toys and their need to make things over complicated these days.

"Genie, help your old mum, with this fucking thing! Otherwise that's it, Christmas is bloody cancelled!" Denise Louise Hunt threatens, not bad going for a woman in her seventies who could still discipline her older boy despite his age; Denise was so busy trying not to rip a fingertip off or break a nail with the stupidly sharp casing surrounding the battery bay, she almost screams in horror "Shit, Genie, don't do that! I remember when you and Stu had some of the _Star Wars _toys first time round in '77, annoyed me even then and don't take the piss son, if you think you can do any better, go-a-fucking-head."

"Seriously Chris, it's just a remote controlled Millennium Falcon, just don't get it near the Christmas tree and break the baubles." warned Detective Superintendent Gene Hunt as he messes around with DS Chris Skelton "Once the Guv, always the Guv, Chris, you know that dude. Merry Friggin' Christmas."

All of the kids beam and throws themselves at their presents, ripping into the wrapping paper, and howling with delight at Jason's many varied _Star Wars_ themed gifts.

"Mum, maybe I should take over toy set up." suggested Detective Superintendent Gene Hunt "maybe next year let me put the batteries in, okay?" Family will always be family in the Hunt and Tyler clans; even though Gene and Sam are supposed to be the sandwich generation caring for both the younger children, juggling well established careers in the Police Force and ensuring elderly relatives were properly cared for, they sure as hell aren't wiser, he'll never let Sam forget the fact he's five and a half or six years his senior.

It was in 2006, the year it all changed for Sam. He can still remember 13 nearly 14 years later laying on that road feeling like hammered shit and ending up in a medically induced coma for six months, his best friend DCI Gene Hunt having to work on his fatal hit and run incident near his silver Jeep Grand Cherokee. It'll be a cold day in hell before Gene Hunt slows down. Sam can still see him eyeing toerags on the street and know he'll be wishing he could give them a stint in the Custody suit, that's if they do retire from the Greater Manchester and London Metropolitan Police forces. Sam can still remember the spark he felt that first time, meeting a 10 year old Gene Hunt in 1973 at his tender four years old.

Little Jason is too much like his 'Uncle Genie' for it to be healthy. Dave Carling is two years old, has a pair of blue eyes that'll melt many a heart when he gets old enough and he's as cheeky as Ray. Basically, they're gonna have their hands full in years to come.

Sam and Gene look around the room at family, their mums and friends then rests his head underneath Gene's chin and says "Oh yes!"

Annie now has a son "She's got a boy you know, a lad about 8. His name's Jimmy."

"Apparently the dad just transferred, to SCS." replied Denise Hunt who knew everything that went on in hers and Ruth Tyler's families as the two women had been friends since Gene was first born in 1963 and Sam's 1969. She has supported Ruth Tyler throughout the years especially when Vic Tyler walked away from out of the blue.

He'd phoned, e-mailed, texted and checked their social media. They'd had coffee. They'd chatted like old times.

Looking him up and down once, she grins and greets him, "Hello Guv!"

The use of the word Guv does something to Gene's brain and he attempts to effect a nonchalant pose, "Alright Cartwright. Still plugging away in the cop shop?"

Laughing, shaking her head, she wraps her arms around the man that had supported her policing career since 1997 at just 18 years old and gives him a kiss on the cheek, "Still a total funny, naive and dreamy prick I see Guv." Gene may have aged a little, but he's still a sneaky so and so when it comes to the house work.

Sam is trying to figure out what to say when the little boy still clasping Annie's hand tugs on the side of her skirt, "Mummy, who's he?"

Annie peers down at the lad, love and affection clearly shining through her chocolate brown eyes, "This is my old colleague Sam Tyler."

Nodding towards Sam, Annie squeezes the boy's hand, "Say hello, Jimmy."

Looking up at Sam, he grins, a big toothy smile full of gaps, "Hello, Jimmy."

"Behave yourself, or no treacle tart." cautioned Annie Cartwright who had her son in late 2011 or early 2012 during the Royal Wedding of Kate Middleton and William Windsor along with the London Olympics plus Queen Elizabeth II's Diamond Jubilee.

Sam watches him disappear and then turns back to Annie, "He's a cheeky sod isn't he?"

"Hark at who's talking. But, yeah, he's definitely his dad's boy!" laughed and giggled the 40 year old woman who was a fanatic of the 1970s women's fashions and the music of her 1990s teenage years as she liked to wear the floaty floral dresses with a modern twist.

"His dad's name is James Jonathan Jenkins." said Detective Sergeant Annie Cartwright when Sam wonders who's the dad to little Jim Cartwright.

Sam's confusion is evident on his always readable face, "Jenkins... as in P.C Jenkins?"

Nodding, Annie can't help the giggle, "Yep, that's him, although he's DC Jenkins now. Sam, he left CID, he transferred to Serious Crimes Squad, around about the same time I decided to have my son." Reaching out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm, Annie smiles, a genuine 'it's good to see you' smile to the whole of their police gang including her old boyfriend Sam Tyler after DI Maya Roy split up with him back in 2007.

Here he is, chatting to Annie having a laugh and a joke about how over bearing and annoying Gene can be.

Gene offers Charlotte his little finger to tug on, tells her the cheesy Christmas cracker jokes and pulls crazy faces just to make her giggle, he could've simply decided during his first marriage that due to the demands of Gene's job and his very young age at the time, parenting wasn't suitable. Sounds silly really, especially seen as Gene's been divorced from his ex Scarlett Lindsey Hunt since 2000. Sam smiles at Gene as Jessica starts yanking on stray strands of greying hair.

In fact, Sam's extremely sad that Gene's ex has not had that chance because he thinks she'd be the perfect parent; over bearing, over protective but always there for his son or daughter. She was still sexy for 62 years old; if Gene'd stayed with his first wife, they may have stayed together in the old house with their only daughter.

"Shit, I love kids just so long as I can give 'em back when they start leaking and screaming." the tiny tear away infant and her rough around the edges experienced police officer relative, unfortunately the change in Gene is instantaneous, he goes from cooing over the kids and having fun with them over their new toys that they've asked Father Christmas for to scared man mountain in two seconds flat.

"My ex wife Scarlett had a little girl with me and is the spit of the Gene Genie; but 7 years later she moved into a council flat with Nick aged 20 at the time and took the old oven with her, once the missus ordered me a brand new range cooker in silver." He smiles softly, enjoys the sight of Sam pouting like a child and sulking for England. Some things will never change. Christmas for Sam was normally drinking mulled cider, Christmas carols with his mum Ruth and listening to his auntie Heather attempt to play the piano.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter #2: DS Annie Cartwright and DCI Sam Tyler's Christmas Memories Through the Years._

**This chapter is about DCI Sam Tyler and DS Annie Cartwright's memories of Christmas since their childhoods. **

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"Well, Annie says it shouldn't be any problem... we'll be having Christmas breakfast with her parents and her brothers..." Sam is the one to instigate on his mobile phone, social media or text message since it is second nature to be connected like that for him and Annie. So if he surprises her with a sushi dinner and the best spicy tuna roll in Manchester. Annie is very good at making traditional fare and comfort foods. She is shocked to find that Sam knows his own way around a kitchen. She's not sure about some of the things he makes at first, but after a few years together she's the one requesting his chicken tikka masala.

Annie grew up with brothers so she rolls her eyes when Sam gets a little too into Cluedo. Sam likes to think he's easy going, unless he is competing with Gene in board games or on the PlayStation, then all bets are off.

Sam absolutely loves revisiting the music of his childhood but since that happens to be the popular music of the 1970s and 1980s, nobody thinks it's embarrassing. Annie on the other hand grew up with a mother who loved Cliff Richard way back in the 1950s to early 60s.

Sam is more outwardly excited about the upcoming Christmas festivities (it's just like he remembered when he was a kid!), but Annie loves being with her family and it just brings a feeling of peace to her to share it with Sam.

Sometimes she and Sam Tyler will either go to a carboot sale or a church service on Sunday morning, followed by lunch with Annie's parents as the Cartwrights believe Sundays are for family and keeping this day special.

Annie only remembers ever having had Christmas cake once before, and that's a very vague memory from when she was very, very young in the early 80s as she wasn't even born until 1979. The way it went was (she thinks), her dad had wanted to try something different, since her mum preferred Christmas puddings, and her mum must had been in a very forgiving if also agreeable mood. Dad always took great pleasure in dousing said puddings in brandy before settling them on fire, and maybe that's why mum had decided a little change could be a good thing – the kitchen oven had almost caught fire too many times to count. Only this time it was the cake that ended up burning, and not because dad had been too liberal with the brandy.

Christmas Eve's to be spent with the Gene Genie and his ex missus, and her parents hope to have them over for breakfast Christmas morning. Christmas day, and night, and dinner. Though how he'll get along with her mum and dad is another question. His mum and Aunty Heather had always done their best to make things special for him as a child, and he doesn't think he appreciated it as much as he could have – at least, not the right way.

Sam's at it already. Dinner's nearly ready to be eaten, but he's pulled the cake out and is busy feeding it tiny drinks of brandy. The more brandy, he'd explained to her back at the start of it, the moister the cake. Of course, too much brandy and you'll ruin it... it's a very careful balancing act. Do you understand? He'd sounded so serious as he tried to explain himself, but that was just more of Sam being Sam. God is in the details, every little one. He must have known what he was doing – dad's cake burned, but Sam's didn't. What that had to mean was, everything else? It was going to be fine.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter #3: Christmas Eve with Annie's Family._

**It is Christmas Eve and inbetween singing Christmas carols with his mum Ruth Tyler where auntie Heather plays the piano, doing things with his older brother Peter from London, sister in law Jackie and niece Rose; he spends the rest of Christmas Eve with Detective Constable Annie Cartwright's family before the big day on the 25th of December. Annie and Sam get the Christmas gift of being parents to their new baby.**

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**2007:**

Sam decides he'll cook individual chicken breasts, rather than a whole turkey, because it makes more sense when he only needs to feed a few people and besides his girlfriend's mum's oven is big enough for an entire bird, but it's less wasteful. He'll coat it with that spicy sauce Annie always makes appreciative noises over. He carries on like this, daydreaming about the meal and the presents and the wine selection, and napkins, and does Annie like sprouts? Sam has planned out almost the entire day before he realizes - he hasn't actually asked her yet.

He gets her alone in a corridor on the way to lunch. "Annie, what are your plans for Christmas Eve?"

She strolls along beside him, hands in the pockets of her waistcoat. She sounds cheerful, even though she must be just as tired as he is. There's also a note of resignation in her tone, but that might be wishful thinking on Sam's part. "I'm going to my parents' house, same as every year. They like their traditions. We even have a schedule. Stockings, presents, turkey, Christmas pudding, fruit cake, and my Nan always makes these homemade mince pies with horrible dry pastry but everyone's too polite to tell her…"

Sam turns in front of her, stops walking, gently takes her hands. "Do I get an invite?"

Her face falls. "Oh, um."

Instead, her parents are waiting outside for her. They hurry over to the car as soon as it appears, Annie's mum shivering in a thin dressing gown and her dad in a baggy Christmas jumper. Sam's chest goes suddenly tight with nerves. Annie gets out of the car, hugging her mum tightly. Her mum asks "Did you have a nice time?"

Annie turns and smiles brightly at Sam, arm around her mother's shoulders. "I've had a wonderful Christmas Eve."

"So this is your young man?" Jeff Cartwright says. He leans in through the open door and reaches across the passenger seat to shake Sam's hand.

"Sam Tyler. Good to meet you." He manages not to squeak.

Annie's dad straightens up and looks at Sam appraisingly for another minute. Then he nods at Annie and slaps the roof of the car. "Come on in, then, lad. We've half a Christmas cake still to get through."

Sam shrugs, hyperactive and needing an outlet. He grabs the remote and sticks the telly on, but as expected the choice of programming is nothing he hasn't seen before, on UK Gold and Drama. A particular memory of _Top of the Pops_ he and Gene Hunt used to watch as children eyes firmly glued to Suzi Quatro singing _Can The Can_ in 1973 as they watch the retro Christmas hit parades from the 1960s to 2006 over on BBC Two.

Annie's mum thinks his ways are endearing instead of awkward, and her dad seems suitably impressed by the bottle of wine he brought along as a gift. The roast's just about ready to come out of the oven, so Annie's mum puts on Santana to help pass the time before popping back into the kitchen.

Annie hadn't believed it, until it really did happen.

"See, it's not that difficult." Sam smiled at her, rising into a standing position. It was still strange to see him in that suit.

Not like Maya. Well, some of the good parts, maybe. But Maya and Sam had always been a bit too similar for his tastes. Except for where they weren't, which just served to compound his irritation. It was all well and good when he did certain things, but not when she did the same. Or nearly the same. And then later when she wanted to talk about it, well, it was just grating really. He couldn't think of a better way to describe it than that. He sighed. It would never have worked out.

Sam was firmly in control in this scenario, and it was utterly perfect. It was what he'd always wanted. He couldn't have got a better present from jolly old St. Nick.

After a certain and very appropriate amount of time, Sam and Annie did the proper thing and got married. Of course, this meant they had to look for a proper place to live, too; couldn't be living in Sam's grotty nasty flat after all, not with a new wife to look after. Annie's flat was a little better, but not by much. Besides which, a flat wasn't a place to raise a family. Nothing good ever came of living in a flat.

Until the day he took Annie to the doctor, who later congratulated them on their test results coming back positive. Annie's face flushed and was utterly suffused with joy. They were going to be parents! Another thing Sam couldn't quite believe.

Of course, he immediately (though very quietly and gently) pressured Annie into resigning from the force. She needed to take care of herself, after all, and he was well capable of providing for them both. They had a nice nest egg built up, besides; now she could spend time doing fun things, like decorating. And needlework. And anything her heart desired so long as it mainly involved sitting at home and nursing the baby she'd now got in her. He brought her so many fruits and vegetables and sweets and delicacies and cooked such fantastic, loving meals for her that Annie couldn't believe her good luck, nor how she'd managed not to gain an astonishing amount of weight.

Whenever anyone talked to Sam for the next nine months, his face was glowing with happiness. He couldn't stop talking about his lovely wife and the lovely child they were going to have, to the point where it soon went from being charming and a nice change from his normal angsty face to being really quite annoying. Ray was quite sure that when Sam had photos to show, he was going to have to either transfer departments or quit entirely if he didn't want to face being banged up for obstructing his junior DCI's annoying face.

And then the magical day arrived; as luck would have it, there had been no complications and everything was progressing perfectly normally. Sam and Annie were really going to be parents! It was hard to believe, but it was true. Sam stroked Annie's bulging belly lovingly. They had no idea whether they were going to have a little girl or a little boy, but Sam didn't care, and neither did Annie. Everything was working out perfectly. They'd even picked out perfect names: Ruth for a girl (after Sam's sainted mother, of course), and Sam for a boy; the reasoning being that Sam had worked out perfectly well for the father, so why shouldn't it work well for the son? To which Annie of course readily agreed.

Sam had done a lot of reading, research on the Internet and had even tried to take some classes on childbirth, which garnered some strange (and envious) looks from all the other mothers in the room when he showed up alongside Annie. None of their husbands were going along with them; just who did she think she was, anyway? But he wanted everything to be perfect, so he was more than happy to get his hands dirty. Theoretically, anyway.

Finally, the day arrived. Ever solicitous, Sam rushed Annie to hospital, overnight bag at the ready in the little Ford Fiesta Zetec he'd got at a sensible price when it had been decommissioned from its former police duty. Tyres squealing, he executed a full panic stop outside the doors and escorted Annie inside, checked her in, and got her to delivery.

Through it all, he held her hand and counselled her on when to breathe and when to push when she had the laughing gas to help. The attending doctor took a break, since everything was going as well as could be hoped and Sam was doing his job, anyway.

Finally, after nearly 4 hours, out popped their baby. And cried. A perfectly formed little girl, ten fingers, ten toes, and a full head of hair! Gorgeous blue eyes, though a lot of babies were born with blue eyes and they only changed later. The hair might get darker, too; currently it was a nearly white shade of blonde, and quite long actually.

Sam marvelled. And then promptly fainted a few moments later when his new, beautiful baby girl called Ruth began 'talking' to him.

Mother and baby both sighed contentedly. Such a happy family they'd be.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter #4: Gene's Difficult Press Cases _

**What is Gene Hunt's favourite Christmas film of all time? The answer is "Love and Death" of course. But why does he find speaking to retired police officers who were well known in his childhood difficult, when part of press cases or re interviewed for their part in an old cold case?**

* * *

_I have, which was a real treat. I mean, Woody Allen's one of my sort of all time heroes, I think. Some of his films have been some of my favourite ever made, really. I have a ritual. I have to watch "Love and Death," every Christmas. I just love it and I find it quite Christmassy because all the Prokofiev music he uses in it, you know._

_But it was great. It's so easy the way - you know, you just see your sides of your scenes and then he encourages you to just be as naturalistic and feel free to go off the page and ad-lib as much as possible and just stick to the main points and keep those in them. Other than that, you're free to do what you like, really, which is terrific, very enjoyable._

Gene Hunt has revealed he loves watching any film with Woody Allen in them especially over Christmas is "Love and Death" but also you don't get to see a full script. as with most Woody Allen films, there's usually kind of three or four storylines going all on at once.

"And, you know, he's got an extraordinary cast again. He's got Anthony Hopkins, Freida Pinto from "Slumdog Millionaire," Josh Brolin, Antonio Banderas, and me. So I'm sort of involved in Josh Brolin's storyline a little bit, you know, who is also delightful, real thrill, pleasure to meet."

Gene Hunt as a performing arts fan sees similarities between Woody Allen and himself; outside of being a police officer.

Gene was only ten in 1973; but has found it difficult when speaking to former police officers whom talk about their childhood during the war and they would have done National Service and stuff like that. The Gene Genie's earliest memories of former CID officers as a child were they wore big camel coats and slip on shoes, an old style cop, not scared of throwing a few punches to get a result. And it is only years later from investigating failed cold cases in Greater Manchester Police that he explains more about them from his adult 21st Century eyes. He remembers DCIs of then being sarcastic and rude (yet still are) whenever DCI Hunt speaks to them although they're mostly elderly and retired, these former CID men are always bitter about their days of policing being over.

Gene dreamt of a Ford Cortina GXL quite a flash motor for the time as a small child. He did get to have one aged 17 years old in 1980; but spoke about having the chance to drive his first ever Ford saloon again, nearly two decades later "It was very difficult to handle the Cortina without power steering; I was rather shocked by it, as it's so different from my modern executive Ford motors, but it was fun for 17 year old me."

DCI Gene Hunt talks about another memorable moment of his in Greater Manchester Police "We just clicked ever since he was 4 and I was 10, it was immediate and I was really glad when he got to be promoted to DCI with me - he is a serious personality; but also learns a little humanity and using his gut instinct from my way of running the CID." Sam and the rest of the team including DI Maya Roy look up to Gene and follows his lead.

Gene's first memory as a child of Greater Manchester Police was a smoky CID office of 40 men it was quite terrifying; his mum Denise Louise Hunt knew that they took the mickey out of her as like her son Gene, she is too outspoken. The Greater Manchester Police former 'A' Division officers don't do emotion like Gene and Sam unfortunately. It was then that Gene learned to base the old school police officers on his childhood experiences in the 70s and 80s "Men came in the pub or working club like that. They would come in the tap room and play darts, dominoes, card games, poker and crib and just think 'our lass is at home making Sunday dinner while I'm sat here enjoying myself'; the women would play bingo or have a knees up; it's all fists and alcohol with those coppers from my childhood. They all pooh-poohed my ideas since I was a Police Constable straight away saying, 'no we've done it this way for years'!" Gene Hunt since starting aged 19 in 1982 noticed this is the way that the old former Greater Manchester Police officers have been brought through the ranks, of their time and been channelled in to that way of thinking.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter #5: Christmas Banter in 2006_

**DCI Gene Hunt really doesn't like the film "Chicken Run" as it reminds him of his mum's hometown in Wales before she moved to London as a little girl during the Second World War; but everything else is just their normal banter only with a Christmassy twist. And Gene gives up smoking for good. Sam introduces Gene to the pleasures of his favourite Disney film "The Muppet's Christmas Carol"**

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"Yes, Gene. We're going to have turkey." said DCI Sam Tyler to his childhood friend of 33 years as Gene always hated having goose for Christmas dinner.

"An' none of that bloody jus stuff. It's soddin' gravy and why can't they just call it that?" complained the 43 year old Gene Hunt sulking on the sofa waiting for Father Christmas to come, he is a big kid when it comes to Christmas.

Sam picks up the packet of Nicolites on the counter and waves them pointedly. "Sprouts are good for you. As are these. We're 'avin' turkey, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pud an' vegetables, an' you can make the gravy to yer own specification. An' afterwards I'll introduce you to the wonders of _The Muppet Christmas Carol._"

You're a muppet if you think I'm sittin' through two hours of those crazy puppets from your favourite film, mate!" joked DCI Gene Hunt good naturedly as Sam prepares for the festive day itself.

_"Chicken Run._ They show it every Christmas in Wales, apparently. It's your mum's country." replied DCI Sam Tyler planning out tomorrow "The traditional Christmas Carol with Patrick Stewart, turkey an' the works for dinner, an' then we can open our presents. Mum's got you one as well."

"Can't be doin' watchin' the same stuff as the sheep-shaggers in my dear mum's native Wales, not cool." Gene agreed about watching Christmas carols with Patrick Stewart on the television before dinner.

"I got 'er something as well. Only a little thing, but I thought she'd enjoy it, she said she was gettin' you something an' it seemed rude to-"

Sam Tyler cuts him off with a kiss. "You don't need to impress 'er. She likes you. She doesn't mind that we're gay."

"I didn't know that, Sammy dude; is that why you kept it under wraps all these years since we were kids?" asked DCI Gene Hunt now knowing the real reason why his best friend's mum had liked him since being a ten year old kid in 1973.

"Go to bed, and Father Christmas will come in the night." ordered the jet black haired man, 6 or 7 years younger than the Gene Genie.

"It's 'ow Christmas should be. You start off on a good note, ruin it by burnin' the dinner, get drunk in the evening, an' maybe some 'appy times later on. Perfect day." Gene was only saying this remark because it was how he remembered Christmas as a child in the 1970s and 1980s with a violent father at his mum's house back in the day.

"No dinner will be burnt on my watch. Now go to bloody bed so I can put the presents out, Genie mate."

Gene harrumphs like a sulky kid, eases himself up, clicks his back with a huff and stomps through into the bathroom, leaving Sam to start rummaging behind the television stand for Gene's presents.

Ruth phones at five to nine, when Gene's still fast asleep in bed. "Merry Christmas, love. How're you both doin'?"

"I'm alright, bit sore, y'know, the usual. Dr Morgan did tell me to expect that. Gene's still asleep, the lazy git." He ruffles Gene's hair absent-mindedly, grins when it draws a drowsy groan from him like a moody teenager. "I'll take my meds in a minute. It's just my knee now, really." And the broken ribs and the head injury, but he won't mention those. It's Christmas, he can't complain.

"Tell Gene thanks from me for the present." said Ruth Tyler. "I'll 'ave fun with those!" She's giggling helplessly down the line.

"We'll 'ave such fun with those at the WI." She's still chuckling, and Sam finds himself laughing along, bending to kiss Gene's crown. "Bless, 'e got me something without me even askin'."

"Is that yer mum?" Gene mumbles into the pillow, still snuggled face down. Sam runs his fingers down his neck.

"Yep. Merry Christmas, you rascal!"

"Mmph? Can I 'ave a mince pie yet?"

It's going to be the best Christmas. Sam and Gene can tell already.

* * *

**This is one of Gene Hunt and Sam Tyler's best Christmases together as childhood friends, so here it is.**


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter #6: Where's Gene?_

**This is set in Christmas 1970s when Gene Hunt evades his bullies picking on him at a car scrapyard in Salford, Manchester. **

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Gene'd have to find somewhere to hide until morning, and then maybe he could go to his and Sammy's school, turn up quietly when it was just the teachers. Maybe the whole of Manchester was looking for him, his face ready for the next morning's newspaper, cars patrolling the roads, posters being printed, and the moment he walked into the school the receptionist would burst into relieved tears at the sight of him, wrap him in one of the blankets from the headmaster's office and ring Sam and Annie to come and pick him up for Stephen and Denise Hunt because the poor love looks so cold, and I bet he didn't have any dinner last night, I recommend steak and chips from that nice pub down the way where he went for his eighth birthday, and maybe a new Matchbox car or two as well, just to make up for what a horrible experience he's had?

And then he'd be sat outside her office, on the comfy chairs reserved for visitors, and all the teachers would hurry to the foyer to make sure he was alright and tell him how thankful they were he was back, and that Sam and Annie were on their way with food and a whole jugful of hot chocolate for him and the latest edition of Shoot! and maybe even his mam as well…

Gene's beautiful blue eyes stung, and he sniffed hard, swiping at them. He hadn't cried since he was six in 1969 or 1970. He wasn't about to start now.

"Are you alright?" The someone knelt down next to him, not quite touching him as Gene wiped the blood from his face, bent his head to hide the single tear he didn't quite manage to blink back as his eyes cracked open. His arm really did hurt. "I'm Ruth. I'm sorry if Sammy startled you, 'e didn't mean to, 'e's just- 'e thought you might be someone else, that's all. Come into the 'ouse, we can call yer mum an' dad an' get them to come an' pick you up. What's your name, sweetie? What are yer parents called?"

"Gene," he murmured, clinging onto his hurt arm as Ruth's hands slid round his waist and eased him up onto his feet, directing him towards what he assumed to be the kitchen. It was light, anyway. "Do you know uncle Sam an' auntie Annie Tyler?"

"What, you're our Gene? Gene Hunt? Goodness me, you know which fences to fall off, don't you! I 'aven't seen you in a while. I looked after you while Sam an' Annie were on their honeymoon, remember with your father Stephen and your mummy Denise? You called me Auntie Ruth. But yer a big boy now, so Ruth'll do."

He did remember. And suddenly things seemed a lot safer for the lack of the evil fog murderer and the addition of Auntie Ruth.

"Come on in an' I'll call 'ome, they must be worried sick about you- why're you still out? Did you get lost?"

"Was lookin' for the junkyard," Gene mumbled into his collar, wincing as he was directed down into a chair and Ruth knelt down in front of him, fingers skimming over his arm. "Ow!"

"Hello? Sam? It's Ruth 'ere, Ruth Tyler… Gene's at my 'ouse, 'e's taken a tumble an' 'e's lookin' a bit worse for wear, but 'e's safe, 'e's 'ere…"

_Hello, Gene. My name's Auntie Ruth. Don't you look smart in yer new suit! Bet you 'ad a fight on yer 'ands to get 'im lookin' this neat. I could barely catch Sam this morning to get 'im in the bath… an' how's everything goin'? I 'eard you did the flowers at yer mum's party, Gene. They were beautiful, very artistic. Maybe you could teach my Sammy something, 'e's tryin' to learn 'ow to draw but 'e's not very good at it, poor mite… well then, let's get our guest of honour in the car, eh? It's not ours, but a friend of mine let me borrow it for today, isn't it handsome? A Ford Cortina Mk3 GXL, very expensive. Right then, 'op in, boys- let's get goin', an' if we get 'ome early enough, we can 'ave chips for tea, an' maybe even a little bit of ice cream for pudding, 'ow does that sound? Yes, I thought you might like it…_

They weren't there. I 'ad to go, otherwise I would've lost my cred- credible-"

"Credibility? With whom?"

"The boys at school. They said to go to the junkyard so I could fight them, only Sam an' Annie weren't there so they couldn't take me, an' they wouldn't 'ave let me anyway, an' I couldn't find it an' then I got lost an' it's really cold outside an' I'm really hungry…"

Ruth reached round him, and Gene stiffened.

And as she came back into view he found himself swathed in a big yellow blanket, the same colour as Sammy's pyjamas, thick and warm over his skinny body; he reached tentatively up with his good arm, wrapping his fingers around a fistful of blanket and pulling it up to his chin to breathe in the comforting smell of fabric conditioner and wool. Ruth smiled at him, easing herself backwards and up to wait by the front door as Sammy crossed the room to sit on the sofa beside him, the two boys staring at each other in silence until the door closed behind Ruth.

Sammy nodded to the blanket, a small smile curving his lips.

If Gene's arm hadn't been broken before he'd reached the hospital, the X-ray technician he was promptly ushered through to was quick to fix that problem, twisting Gene's arm into the required positions for his pictures as Annie held his spare hand very tightly; DI Sam Tyler and Gene's father Stephen did his best to distract him with promises of Matchbox cars and days off school, maybe even a cowboy film on the new video player tomorrow. The needle someone brandished at him caused a few yelps, but at least it put his arm to sleep, and very nearly the rest of him as well, when they stuck another one in when he wasn't looking; he had to force himself to stay awake as they put the plaster cast on his arm, biting his lip until it bled, but it was worth it. After all, he'd learnt the hard way, the horrible, miserable way, that people who went to sleep in hospital didn't always wake up.

The young Guv and his best friend Sam Tyler were then arguing about the merits of _Scooby Doo_ and play a prank involving ice-cream without their parents finding out in the lounge room.

"OK, then. I won't go. We can watch Scooby-Doo together, an' I'll tell you 'ow many laws they're all breakin'."

"What, even Scooby an' the gang? But they're the good guys!"

"Criminal damage, breakin' an' enterin', trespassin', theft…"

"Sam, stop windin' Gene up. They get away with it because they're the good guys, Gene. That's all you need to know. You stay a good guy, you don't go to jail."

"Can't put dogs in jail anyway. That's stupid."

"No, Scooby would go to the pound, where 'e'd slowly fester away for the rest of 'is… _ow!_ That plaster cast really 'urts!"

"Serves you right. Now be quiet, an' I won't 'elp Gene put ice cream down yer back."

"You wouldn't put ice cream down my back, would you, Gene? Yer too nice to do that."

"Of course I wouldn't, Sam…"

* * *

**Little Gene's so lucky to have them both and to be in that home while his father Stephen is busy working on the Christmas criminals and blaggers! Title inspired from the "Where's Wally?" books but in the Ashes to Ashes edition, starring a young Gene Hunt. The child version of Gene is criminally fun to write.**


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter #7: The Gene Genie Doesn't Need Babysitting_

**Set in Christmas 1970s. Gene really doesn't like his babysitter and runs away to find his old man.**

* * *

DCI Stephen Hunt was working late tonight, on a stake-out or something, and he was stuck here with Mrs Adams from number sixty-five, who had left him in front of a _Scooby-Doo_ cartoon and gone into the pantry to raid the biscuit tin. That had worked fine until _Scooby-Doo_ ended, but when she'd told him to run along upstairs and play with some toys or something and fallen asleep in his armchair, Gene had gone off into a sulk, unnoticed by the snoring woman currently crushing his favourite cushion. And she had the key to the front door as well, which meant that however much he wanted to, Gene couldn't go out and meet Daniel West for a punch-up because he couldn't get out of the house. Bloody Mrs Adams. He didn't need a babysitter, he was eight for goodness' sake, but when he'd said that to his Dad's colleague Sam he'd got a very condescending smile and a pat on the head in return, and Annie had simply pulled him in for a cuddle and told him in her placating voice that it was only for tonight, and they'd be picking him up from David's tomorrow, and Mrs Adams was a nice woman who was giving up her afternoon for him so he had to be nice to her and not repeat the words that Sam had said when he'd hit his thumb trying to make Gene's shelving work. He'd got a detention for repeating them in front of Mrs Jamieson.

Even a detention would be an improvement on being stuck in the house listening to Mrs Adams snore. Gene slouched down onto the sofa and pouted miserably at the wall, kicking at a dustball beneath the coffee table and using a coaster for target practice on Mrs Adams' stomach. Mrs Adams muttered something, let her mouth fall open and started drooling.

He'd learnt this back at his old house, picking the lock to get himself and Stu out of the cupboard under the stairs when Dad had gone to bed, but they'd had to be back in there by the time he woke up or else they'd both have been beaten again; he didn't think Mrs Adams would hit him, but all the same, he tried to keep as quiet as possible as he bent down towards the lock and started twiddling it about, praying that this lock wasn't as good as the one on the front door and that it actually would open.

Nothing for tea apart from a packet of crisps, up on the top shelf that his mam knew Gene couldn't reach, and half a slice of bread with green fluffy bits growing in the corner. Gene sighed to himself, padding back through into the lounge only to find Mrs Adams now hugging his poor cushion, a thin line of spittle making its way down her face and onto the fabric clutched in her arms.

Maybe this was one of the pubs where Mam had worked as a barmaid, until Dad told her he didn't want her to work and why did she want to work anyway, when she had his kids to look after? Gene had felt guilty then, that he was stopping Mam from going out and doing things, but she'd told him in a very firm voice that he was worth every lost penny and cuddled him and Stu until he stopped arguing. Maybe Mam would tell Sam and Annie that he was cold and alone and starting to get a little bit scared now, but not very scared, because he was Gene Hunt and he was eight years old and he wasn't lost, not really, just a little bit unsure of his exact location.

The door burst open behind him, smacking him into the bin a couple of inches from his face.

"Oi, kiddo! Shift it or I'll give you a hidin'!"

"You wouldn't dare! My dad's a copper an' he'll come after you." Gene scrambled up, brushing off his scraped knees, glaring at the shadowy man holding a bag of leftovers aloft in one hand, a beer mug in the other. "Come after you an' arrest you."

"Yeah, I bet 'e will. Run along, kiddo, pub's no place for a shrimp like you." The man tossed the bag out into the alleyway and slammed the door shut again, leaving Gene on his own in the darkness, folding his arms and trying to stop himself trembling.

He needed to find his way back to the school. If he could get back to the school, he could get home, before eight o'clock and before Sam and Annie arrived. Surely it was only a couple of streets away?

He stepped out of the alleyway, peering round to check for anyone dangerous, sliding along the fence with his hands in his pockets, clenched against the frozen air. Annie would tell him off for not taking his coat with him if she knew, but he'd stick his tongue out at her and say something funny and she'd giggle and it would be OK again. Granny used to call that his charm. She didn't even know his name any more.

"Yeah. Where they put all the old cars. Where, Michael?"

* * *

**8 year old Gene Hunt should be thankful that he's being babysat, I left a question on the end where Gene asked about the scrapyard he was bullied in previously.**


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter #8: The Christmas Sam Tyler's Father Left Manchester._

**Set in 1973 Manchester with a 4 year old Sam Tyler.**

* * *

Vic knew the rules. Get out of Manchester. Now. By rights, he should be gone already, should have hoofed it in the woods the second that nutter let him go. DI Tyler. Vic should have checked for bullets. He should have done things right.

That didn't matter now. He needed money. He needed a gun. He couldn't survive on the run without either one, not with the men he'd burned to climb this high. Without some insurance, his enemies would have his head on a platter, a literal platter, by the end of the week. God, Vic had sacrificed so much for his position. Too much to have it thrown away by an uppity copper with daddy issues.

He pounded on Daniel Riley's door. Pounded and pounded until Daniel finally opened the door, hissing, "What're you thinking, idiot? Get the fuck out of here."

Vic tried to slip inside, but Riley blocked him with his body. "Let me in, Dan. I need to hide."

"Not in here. Hunt's after your blood. You aren't bringing the CID on our hideyhole?"

"Jesus—" Vic tried to elbow past. Riley pushed him back onto the pavement. "What the hell?" His hands were balled into fists, but Vic knew better than to use them. Riley was the size of a small bear. About as good at tearing a man apart too. So Vic breathed and smiled and said, "Come on, Dan. Favor for an old friend. Think of all the Mortons have done for you."

"The Morton Brothers are dead, Vic. Their history with me doesn't mean shit anymore."

Nobody talked like this to him, _nobody_. Not anymore.

"Let me in, Riley."

He never should have left the gun in the field. It could've opened a few doors right now.

But Riley pulled the door shut with muttered curse, and Vic knew he could beat his hands against that door until his fists were bloody. It wouldn't open. The street felt colder than it had five minutes ago. There were other men, other miserable bastards who owed Vic for his generosity, who'd taken everything Vic gave them with a smile and a promise that they'd remember this. Lying, cheating, cutthroat bastards who weren't worth the food that kept them alive. They wouldn't help him now that he was nothing. If Riley had turned, they all had. He was alone.

Fine. He did better on his own.

Just get out of the city. He knew where he could get a car, ways to get one that weren't sway to public opinion. Whether Vic was down and out was irrelevant to whether he could smash a window or a few fingers. There would always be places in Manchester that respected that. Vic set off south. The wind pushed him along, a gentle force at his back keeping him going forward, and he couldn't help but think that it was a sign from the universe._Keep doing what you're doing, Vic. It always turns out well in the end._

But the streets were quiet, oddly so. It made it harder to remain unseen when you were the only person on the sidewalk. Vic kept to the back roads and alleys, but even here there should be people. There was no one, though, not even the scum of the earth that lived here. Vic walked twenty blocks and never saw a soul besides his own shadow. Now and then, in the corner of his eye, he'd see a flash of red and twirl around, expecting to see that bitch of a policewoman had tracked him down again. It was always nothing, nothing except the flickers of an overactive mind that had learned the value of paranoia a long time ago. False alarms or not, they set Vic's teeth on edge, made him move his feet just a little bit faster. The wind blew colder now. Harder as well. It slapped against his back, slid iced hands down his shirt, and pushed him on and on and on until he thought that he couldn't walk any way other than the way he was going.

There was a shock of red in the window of a store and Vic's heart nearly tore itself out of his chest. Nothing. Nothing, it was nothing. He was acting like his Sammy now, jumping at monsters in the shadow. A blackness settled on Vic's chest at the thought. He'd never see his son again, not if Hunt and that fucking DI had their way. Sammy would grow up without him, no father figure to steer him right. Ruth was a good woman—a better woman than he deserved, he could admit that—but it was too much to ask of her to raise his boy on her own. She wasn't strong enough for that. Who knew what Sammy would become?

The streets twisted under Vic's feet as he stamped his way. It was lucky that no one was around him, lucky for them. Vic wanted to slam his fist into something soft. He wanted to beat something until it stopped moving. His family. That fucking madman of a copper stole Vic's family.

The plan changed. Get out of Manchester moved lower on the list. Step one was still get a gun. Step two became to use it on Tyler until the bastard stopped twitching.

There was red again, and by the time he whirled to face it, it was gone. But Vic knew. Vic wasn't stupid, didn't get to where he was by ignoring the signs. Someone was following him. And they must have known that he knew. They were playing with him. His stomach twisted. His heart clenched.

* * *

**This is the Christmas Vic Tyler left his son Sam Tyler and Ruth as a single parent, not a nice man is he? Fancy leaving your child and walking away!**


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter #10: Santa's Grotto _

**This is set in the run up to Christmas 1985 when Gene Hunt first became a Detective Constable in Greater Manchester Police CID and he brings his 15 year old best friend along for the fun.**

* * *

"D'you remember who pushed you down the stairs?" Gene sits down on the chair next to the bed, plucks two grapes from the tray on the table, and flicks them into his mouth. "Or where the money in yer safe box was?"

"No. Can't remember anything before wakin' up in 'ere. Well, I remember goin' to work at the grotto, gettin' changed an' that…" He nods noisily to what's left of his elf costume, crumpled in a bag in the corner. "But I don't know anything else. I don't know what I was doin' with the money. I must've put it in there an' collected everyone else's on me way to the office."

"What was yer role at the grotto?"

The man sighs. "Singing to the kiddies. Handin' out chocolates. The usual rubbish kids love at Christmas. I work there every year, it's good to see the kiddies 'avin' fun at Christmastime, an' they all love elves, don't they, especially the mums an' dads who can sneak off for some mulled wine-"

"Can you tell us who else was workin' with you, Mr Higgins?" Sam interjects. He appears to be the only elf who's come to grief at the grotto, and after examining the livelihoods, bank balances, employment and sodding dental records of everyone working there, they still have no idea who might be behind the attack, any links between any of the workers, or even what the motivation to rob a sodding Christmas grotto by knocking an elf's lights out might be, besides an intense and disturbing hatred of bells. "Did you get on with the other elves at the grotto, and Father Christmas?"

"Dancer an' Prancer, you'd know them, wouldn't you, Tyler?" Gene whispers under his breath to a 15 year old Sam Tyler.

"They're good kids, mostly temporary staff members for the other elves, from a local kids' centre. Arnie Wainwright's been Father Christmas since I can remember." Joe Higgins plucks the hat from his head and throws it at the rest of his ruined costume. "I'd 'ad a couple of brandies from the café, would take a soddin' saint not to 'ave 'ad. But I felt 'ands on my back before I fell."

"Thought you said you couldn't remember anything?" Gene leans forwards, hands on his knees. "Anything else? A voice, a shape? Any bells jinglin'?"

"No." Higgins rubs his face. "That's everything. I'm sorry, Detective Constable, I whacked my 'ead so 'ard, I'm amazed I can remember my own bloody name. My missus 'ad to come in an' tell me I'm meant to be goin' to Blackpool with 'er an' 'er family for Christmas, an' if you lot insist I'm under police bloody protection-"

"What, you'd rather we left you 'ere an' toddled off back to our mince pies with the bloke who tried to turn yer brains into sherry runnin' about loose?"

"Well, when you put it like that," Joe mumbles.

Gene grits his teeth at him. "We'll 'ave 'im banged up before you miss yer train to sunny Blackpool. Just remember to bring me back some rock, eh?"

Higgins rolls his eyes at the 22 year old boy that was the newest Detective Constable to enter Greater Manchester Police CID.

I want a toy Vtech computer," the kid says.

Sam sticks a smile on his face, stuffing his twenty pence into the overflowing belt bag that Father Christmas said he'd pop out and collect as soon as they were given a tea break. Yet Joe Higgins had had access to the safe box. "That sounds good. Like from David Bowie's music video?"

The girl nods enthusiastically. "And to 'ave my 'air cut so it's sticky-up 'air like his."

The mother makes a strangled noise; Sam quickly changes tack. "Oh, no. Takes him hours and hours to make his hair look like that. An' it's all flat again within ten minutes. Not worth it at all. I 'ad to give 'im so much hairspray for Christmas, it's maybe all 'e got."

The girl winces; her mother breathes a sigh of relief. "I want a rocket. An' a new dolly. My dolly's eye fell out."

"Maybe a medical set, then? So you can 'elp dolly's eye go back in?" That's something he knows Arnie's got, at least. The girl nods.

"An' what might you be 'avin' for your big present?"

"Rollerskates. Really good ones."

The mother drops her handbag.

"But Debbie, darling," her father says slowly. "You wanted an art set for yer big present."

"Not any more," Debbie says. "I want some rollerskates."

"Er, but rollerskates are really nasty when you fall over," Sam gabbles as the parents exchange panicked looks. "An' it takes ages to learn. An' your feet'll grow out of them within, maybe, six months? Father Christmas would rather get you something you'll really, really enjoy."

"Next!" one of the other elves shouts, and Sam breathes a huge sigh of relief as Debbie and her parents are shepherded in between the tinsel curtains.

"Medical set," he mouthes at the tinsel-bedecked elf, who nods and ducks back inside. Just his bloody luck that the elf in hospital had the costume with bells on. If only it'd been Tony Stubbs and his gold tinsel, that actually looked- well, if not good, at least mildly tasteful. Or Melanie Rudd and her plastic holly. Prickly, but far less embarrassing.

And had Joe Higgins really had access to the safe box, when he was taking most of the money from the children? Why not, if he hadn't? Why did Arnie Wainwright seem so bloody intent on keeping the key completely to himself? It's like trying to get scotch off Gene.

And all of the elves have alibis, too. Arnie said he'd been in the cafeteria. Sam could sneak off to have a quick chat with the staff there, but no, another snotty nose has appeared at his elbow, and the pinched, anxious twin faces of Mum and Dad are brilliantly persuasive for him to hang around for another couple of minutes.

"Right. Hello, what's your name?"

"Benedict," the boy in front of him says. "Like the man from the Bible."

"And what would you like for Christmas, Benedict?"

"A train set." Sam exhales hard as both of Benedict's parents grin wearily. "With a blue Hornby train."

And the joint looks of panic again, and Sam all but shoves Benedict into the grotto as his parents start desperately trying to persuade him that a green train will look far better on the track Father Christmas is getting him. One more kid, and he'll escape and ask some questions.

"Clever, innit. Now make like a good little fairy an' mush my best pal." said Gene "It's my turn to ask Santa, what I would like."

22 year old DC Gene Hunt goes into the grotto eager to tell Father Christmas what he would like, probably the newest game for his Nintendo NES or Duran Duran cassette tape for his Sony Walkman personal stereo.

* * *

**This is about Gene Hunt's first Christmas with Greater Manchester Police CID when he brings his 15 year old best friend Sam Tyler along with him on a case as it's Christmas. **


End file.
